


Human Equations

by websandwhiskers



Series: The Proper Care and Feeding of Indefinable Things [9]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Darcy is AWESOME, F/M, Mild Angst, Multi, Open Relationships, Polyamory, Steve Rogers in the 21st Century, Steve is Awkward
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-17
Updated: 2012-07-17
Packaged: 2017-11-10 04:18:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/462119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/websandwhiskers/pseuds/websandwhiskers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one ever has the life they thought they would.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Human Equations

Darcy is sitting at the kitchen table with a mug in front of her, staring into space, when Steve enters with his groceries; he guesses Jane's baby shower must have ended, then.

 “Oh, hey,” she says, looking up when he enters. “Jane really liked the sketch.”

 “I'm glad. How'd the party go?”

 “Good,” she says, and nothing else.

 He sets his bags on the counter and begins to unpack and put away – or rather, attempt to put away. There are three refrigerators in the shared kitchen, all of them larger and more high-tech than he could ever have imagined refrigerators would be, and yet they are all always full. Today he has vegetables, a couple gallons of milk, a few cuts of meat (it still boggles his mind a little, that meat is so inexpensive – even though Pepper has explained to him that he should look for cuts labeled 'grass fed', to be sure the cows weren't tortured. Really, tortured _cows_ \- who would torture a _cow?) -_ it's a lot of food, granted, but it's, well, actual _food._ He really isn't sure _what_ half the things Pepper and Tony eat are, or why there need to be so many open bottles of sauce – isn't it the point of bottling things, that they keep? Why do they need to have every kind of sauce known to mankind all open at the same time? 

 But it is their home, not his – they may say otherwise, but that is the plain fact of the matter, and he reminds himself of it as he moves a jar of something bright orange and labeled in an alphabet he doesn't read, to make room for his cabbage. 

 Darcy, he notices, has been silent all the while. He glances back at her; she's not even sipping at her mug. He doesn't know her all that well, but from what he remembers, she's usually . . well, louder. Full of all kinds of colorful observations.

 But she did just help to plan a party from across the galaxy, and then attend it. That must be tiring, he supposes.

 He takes winter squash out of the crisper – those don't need to be in there, winter squash _keeps,_ that's why it's called _winter_ squash, and he knows they're only in there because what Thor knows about how to feed himself wouldn't cover a whole page if you wrote it out long-hand. And they're definitely Thor's, because nothing else alive eats that much winter squash. 

 Darcy still hasn't stirred. He frowns back at the back of her head. Her hair has grown since she was last on Earth, and it tumbles down over the back of the chair in a mass of loose curls. That's one thing, at least, that he likes better about this century: the girls' hair, how long they grow it and how they let it just hang loose like that.

 Steve puts most of the meat in the icebox – in the _freezer –_ and leaves a single whole chicken down in the refrigerator. (A free range chicken, as per Pepper's guidance.) 

 Oatmeal and canned tomato paste and a few boxes of cereal go into the cabinets, the reusable bags are folded and tucked beneath the sink, and then . . then he's done, and Darcy is still just sitting there, and something just isn't right. He walks around the table so he's in front of her, and she still just stares off, deep in thought. 

 “Darcy, are you . . . are you alright?”

 “What?” Darcy snaps back into alertness and smiles much too widely. “Sure! I'm great!”

 “You seem a little quiet,” he ventures – not that her moods are any of his business, really, but, well, she's worrying him. He likes her, for as little as he knows her; she's honest. That's rare anymore. Or maybe it always was, and he's just old enough, jaded enough now to notice it. It's sort of a depressing thought.

 “Yeah, I guess I am,” Darcy sighs – which isn't an answer, but isn't telling him to mind his own business, either.

 “How're things on Asgard?” Steve asks, for lack of any better direction.

 “They're . . . Asgardian oh my God how am I the ambassador to anything I can't lie for _shit,_ ” Darcy says, and lets her head fall forward until it hits the table. Her hair falls all around her in softly settling waves, totally obscuring her face.

 “Well, it's probably good not to lie for shit,” Steve offers, taking the chair beside her. “If you're going to lie, it ought to be for a very good reason, and shit just isn't worth it, in my opinion.” 

 “Smartass,” Darcy grumbles. 

 He smiles, which is stupid, because she can't see it – which makes him blush, which she can't see either, so that sort of balances out. 

 Darcy raises one hand, with one finger pointed up. “In my defense,” says the sprawled mess of Darcy's hair, “I have brokered us some _very_ profitable trade in metals. And made sure that . . okay, yeah, that thing, I can't tell you what that thing was, but let's just say that that thing would have been _really bad,_ and that there was judicious juggling of information and its distribution, and that is why you are not off fighting . . somewhere.” 

 “Well, that all sounds like really good work.”

 “Yep,” Darcy agrees, to the table. “I am awesome.” 

 Steve waits. 

 “And if you're awesome at something, you're supposed to want to keep doing it, right?” 

 Ah. 

 “Not always,” he offers. “Depends on where your talents lie, I think. Some things are easier to be good at than others.” 

 “I can actually lie really well,” Darcy admits. “About things that aren't, y'know, my life. The important stuff. And I can totally read people. That's like my superpower - except it's kinda Natasha's superpower more, but shut up.”

 “I didn't say anything,” Steve objects.

 “You thought it.”

 He really hadn't – no, Darcy can't read people on the level Natasha can, but some days he isn't really sure if that's a gift or a handicap, for Natasha. 

 “It's not that I want to quit the _job_ part of the job,” Darcy elaborates, finally picking her head up and pushing her hair behind her ears. It falls in her face anyway; something about her hair and the set of her mouth and . . just something, that Steve could say with a bit of charcoal but not with words, something about her face makes him think of old illustrations of mermaids. 

 “I just miss having a life,” Darcy says. “I know, how mature is that _not?_ I have this like, awesome, world-changing, how-do-I-have-this-job-at-twenty-six sort of job, and I miss having _friends._ I mean, I _like_ plenty of the people there. People there like me. I'm likeable. It's a job skill, apparently.”

 “But that's not the same as having real friends,” Steve supplies.

 “Jane's my real friend,” Darcy says, but it isn't really a disagreement. 

 “I can't tell you what to do. I guess you just have to figure out where you duty lies. I'm sure you'd be good at lots of other things, too.” 

 “Only you would put it that way,” Darcy says, and snorts – sounding somewhere between amused and accusing. “Anybody else would tell me do what's best for me or something like that. You, you talk about duty.” 

 “More people should,” Steve says, then scowls at himself. “Sorry. You don't need to listen to me complain when you're already upset.”

 “No, no, please,” Darcy retorts. “Tell me about your feelings of alienation and disappointment – or at least tell me awkward stories. Tell me something you're petty about? Don't make me the only one who's over-shared, that just sucks.” 

 “You already know the best I've got to offer in that regard.”

 She actually looks confused for a long moment. He can see on her face when it clicks – and it probably does because she sees his face going red. He used to think that the army would beat that out of him eventually, but it never did. 

 “You mean you and Tony and Pepper?”

 “You must think I live quite the exciting life, if you expect me to do better than that.”

 “Dude, I hate to break it to you, but having had a threesome is not exactly earth-shattering stuff anymore.” 

 He doesn't mean to make a face at that, really he doesn't, but he must, because the next thing she says is, “I'm sorry, that was mean. Just because it's not all scandalous doesn't mean it can't be like, the end of the world in _your_ world.” 

 “It's not the end of the world,” Steve hedges. “It's. Um. Nice? Good.”

 “I bet,” Darcy smirks, and Steve feels his face getting hotter.

 “It was . . really good, in that way. Is that – is that what I'm supposed to say? I still want to think that's disrespectful of Pepper, at least, to talk like that, but now it seems like it's disrespectful _not_ to.”

 “You're doing fine,” Darcy reassures him. “Appreciative but without details is always a safe bet.”

 “Okay.” It doesn't really strike him as particularly okay, but, well, it's the world. “It wasn't, um, just that once.” He doesn't mean to keep talking, but the words are falling out of his mouth, and there's nobody _else_ he can talk to about this, and she doesn't look horrified, so . . . so what the heck. “It's kind of a . . kind of an ongoing thing. Not too often, really, but . . sometimes.”

 “So are you having a moral crisis over this, or what?” 

 “Not . . exactly?” Steve says. “I kind of feel like I really _should_ be, but it's hard to when they're both so . . just . . not that it's not a big deal, exactly, but – it's not some tawdry thing.”

 “You're friends with benefits,” Darcy says. “Like actual _friends_ with benefits. Besties with benefits. It's a meaningful relationship, just not one that's going to end in white picket fences.”

 “I guess. It's just so different from how I thought it'd be.”

 “Relationships in the twenty-first century, relationships period, or sex with them specifically?” Darcy asks. 

 “Just . . that, I guess. All of that. I just thought it'd be . . . just not that.” _Oh, real smooth, Rogers._

 “You thought – it – wait. Wait, wait, wait,” Darcy says. “There is a way you're talking about this, that is making me think – was that your first time?”

 “Yeah,” Steve admits.

 “Your first time. Your _first time_ was _a threesome with Pepper Potts and Tony Stark,_ ” Darcy says. “Oh my _God,_ you really _are_ Captain America. Seriously, do you realize how epic that is?”

 “It was with two good friends having a good night, and . . . it's really just the _two_ part that I'm hung up on. And well, that one of them's a man. And that they're just so _gone_ on each other, they're gonna get old together, they have a _baby,_ for Pete's sake, and . . okay, maybe there's a lot that I'm hung up on,” Steve concedes. 

 “And my foot is living in my mouth again,” Darcy sighs. “Crap. Right. They're just your good friends who you trust, and you don't really care who they are to the rest of the world. Because you're a good guy like that.” 

 “If I'm such a good guy, why -” and he stops himself, because both the words and the feelings prompting them are something small and mean and ugly. He cares about Pepper, and Tony, and they care about him, care about him enough to include him in such an intimate way, they tell him all the time that he's family, but . . . but. 

 “You want what they have,” Darcy guesses.

 “Yeah,” Steve agrees. “Yeah, that's it. But I don't want – I don't want to lose what I have now. I'm just being greedy, I guess; lots of people have no one. I know what that's like.” 

 “So why can't you keep them and find a girl to go steady with too?” Darcy asks.

 Steve shakes his head. “It wouldn't be right.”

 “Why the hell not? Tony and Pepper are allowed to have each other, why shouldn't you -”

 “That's not what I mean. It wouldn't be right to the . . the other girl, if there were another girl. I couldn't ask that.” 

 “She might not mind,” Darcy suggests.

 “What girl wouldn't mind _that?_ ” 

 “Dude, I am starting to get offended on Pepper's behalf, here,” Darcy says. “You know she's kinda like my idol, right? And either you're okay with this and you're not ashamed, or you are ashamed and you stop doing it. But you don't get to be with awesome people and be ashamed of it, because _that_ is not right.”

 “I know-”

 “And hell, me.”

 Steve stares at her. “You?” he asks.

 “Well, hypothetically, yeah. I wouldn't mind. I mean, lots of people have friends with benefits, but you know what that really means, a lot? It means they're not over their ex. Or they're stringing along some poor dumb girl who's like, obsessed with them. Or really they're not as bi as they'd like to think they are. Bad reasons. Your reasons? Your reasons are the good sort of reasons, and Tony and Pepper are good sort of people, not likely to go batshit jealous and throw a brick through my window – long story. Point is, sexually liberated enough to go there, but with enough morals – like, real morals, not like, right-wing morals – to care about what it means for everyone involved and everyone's feelings and all that? That's pretty rare. And awesome. You're selling yourself way short.” 

 She pauses. Tilts her head at him consideringly. Then says, “Also, I think I may have just asked you out. Huh.”

 “You . . did?” 

 “I think I did. If you want me to have. Otherwise, we can chalk it up to my broken brain-to-mouth filter and pretend it never happened.” 

 “I didn't think SHIELD liasons to other planets were allowed to have, um, broken brain-to-mouth filters,” Steve says; it's a joke, it's actually a sort of _good_ joke, and for as dazed as he's feeling at this point, he is ridiculously proud of that.

 “Oops?” 

 “You're not just feeling sorry for me, are you?” 

 “Dude. You're banging Tony Stark _and_ Pepper Potts and also, seriously, have you seen you? There is really, _really_ no pity involved, here.” 

 He winces. “Sorry, sorry, it's just – sometimes I forget -”

 “I know,” Darcy reaches across the table and lays her hand over his. “And that? That is a huge factor.” 

 “So, um,” He clears his throat. Is this happening, really? Well, stranger things have. “I think the thing to do on a first date nowadays is . . coffee?”

 “You are never going to go wrong by offering me coffee,” Darcy affirms. 

 “Would you want – there's this little coffee shop that's a gallery, too,” Steve offers. “It's a bit of a walk from here. We could take my bike, if you wouldn't mind -”

 “Mind? Mind. You're asking if I'd _mind,_ ” Darcy sighs. “Sometimes I wonder if we're speaking the same language.”

 “So that's yes?” 

 “That is eight kinds of yes.” 

 “Eight kinds. Wow.”

 “Yep. Eight.” 

 “So what are they? The eight kinds of yes.”

 “The first is 'yes, I love motorcycles,' and the second is 'yes, I'm okay with hugging you for a few blocks at high speeds,' and . . . hrm,” she stops, and is again scrutinizing him with one squinted eye and a tilted chin. “Yeah, that's about all you're getting for now. You might earn yesses three and four by the end of the night.” 

 “I might, huh?”

 “You _might_.”

 

 


End file.
